Final Death, Rising Soul
by Legatum
Summary: Day 24 of the fanfic 2018 Advent Calendar! 4# of the Watership Down Tribute Series! Dedicated to John Hurt, the voice of Hazel and Woundwort. Written in collaboration with randomkungfupandafan.


Welcome to the last day of the fanfic 2018 Advent Calendar! Stay tuned to my profile for more Christmas surprises later today.

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It was a cold December day on the coast of England. Icy Winter winds, born in the cold depths of the seas, blew over the town of Cromer.

In an elegant house on the edge of town, John Vincent Hurt jammed a poker into the fire, coaxing the last vestiges of heat from the dying flames.

"I am just like these flames," He thought. "Old, fading, struggling to hang on for just one more minute, one more hour, one more day."

He felt a slight twinge of pain in his side. Another reminder of the Pancreatic cancer he had fought with for the last several years. Although the outcome was still uncertain, John was nothing if not realistic. He was almost eighty years old, drained by disease. Ultimately, there was only one way this would end.

As he put away the poker, his eye was drawn to a framed photograph hanging on the wall. A dozen smiling faces peered out from the photo, of which one was his. It was a special photo, a treasured reminder of his time on Watership Down. John Hurt's connection with Watership Down ran much deeper than most. He had been a part of that wondrous world for almost forty years, playing some of its most treasured roles. Very few people were able to claim such.

His eyes roamed over the photo, taking in the details of each familiar face. Once, that picture had never failed to elicit pride and joy from him, but these days, it brought little but melancholy nostalgia. Over the years, the various adaptations of Watership Down had brought together some of the greatest talent England had ever produced. But the sad truth was that he was one of the last. Stephen Gately had died in 2009, John's dear friend and longtime Watership Down compatriot Richard Briers had passed in 2013, Rik Mayall in 2014, and worst of all, Richard Adams, the legendary novelist who had started it all, had gone to his well deserved rest but a year ago.

He missed them, he missed all of them. Walking to his window, he stared out at the town of Cromer, where the pre Christmas season was well underway. People, some of them no more than the size of ants from where he stood, scurried about, shopping, decorating, or just laughing with family and friends. Slowly, John felt some of the melancholy fall away from his heart.

"No." He thought, this is not a time for sadness, this is a time for reflection, a time to remember those whose lives blessed us so richly. I will not dishonor their memory by wallowing in self pity."

Throwing open his closet, he grabbed his coat and took his hat from a peg by the door. As he put them on, he thought, "This will probably be my last Christmas, and I will not spend one more precious moment sulking in the darkness."

Head high, he opened the door, and marched out into the street. As the house descended back into silence, it seemed that, for a moment, the faces on the photo smiled just a little bit more.

John spent much of the afternoon meandering through the town. Cromer was nothing particularly special, a traditional coastal town that made its living off the sea. The village was famous for its Cromer crabs, a sweet delicacy that was the pride and joy of the local inhabitants. As John strolled down main street, he took a deep breath, relishing the crisp December air mixed with the delicious smells emanating from the shops. With Christmas fast approaching, the tourist season was in full swing. Hundreds of people from all over the country filled the streets, faces bright with excitement as they took in the festivities. The locals had outdone themselves with the decorations this year.

Thousands of lights adorned every roof and window, keeping the streets bright even amid the dimness if the December evening. Sweet smelling pine garland decorated the doorways, their sweet scent tantalizingly melding with the smell of fresh baked cookies from the nearby bakery. Within every storefront window loomed beautiful, larger than life Christmas trees. Some were decorated with elegant, red and gold ornaments. Others were decorated with citrus ornaments, a time honored tradition in England.

The final touch to the entire scene was a delicately light snowfall. Handfuls of snowflakes fell from the sky, just enough for the children to chase in their innocent glee.

John absorbed everything around him. Every smell, every sound, every feeling. He waved to friends who shouted out their greetings, shouting out his own greetings in reply. He also waved to some of the tourists, complete strangers with whom he shared nothing in common but a shared Christmas spirit. A group of children ran in circles around him, laughing and singing. John laughed with them and reached out, tickling a little girl who got too close. The little girl shrieked with delight and ran away with her friends.

As John continued on, he left the hustle and bustle of the town behind. The lights faded, the smells grew dim, and the noise gradually disappeared into silence. Eventually, he found himself in a small park on the outskirts of town. The snowfall had slowly increased, and the ground was covered by a thin yet solid coating of snow. The park was dark and empty, a drastic change from the lively joy of the town, yet John found the peace and solitude strangely welcoming.

Wiping the snow off a park bench, he sat down with a sigh, suddenly rather tired. He looked toward the town, where the glow of the lights was still clearly visible. He smiled and closed his eyes. It was so wonderfully peaceful. Why he could almost fall aslee…

A soft noise brought him back to earth. Opening his eyes, he saw a small creature sitting in the snow a few feet away. It was a rabbit. John was surprised. Wild rabbits were rare in these parts. Leaning forward, he held out his hand. The rabbit stared at him for a moment, wrinkled its nose, then hopped away, landing at the feet of a dark, hooded figure than seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

John almost fell off the bench from shock. Heart racing, he watched as the figure leaned down and gently stroked the rabbit's head. Surprisingly, the rabbit seemed to relish the attention. After a moment the figure spoke. The voice was hard to describe. It was neither high nor low, young or old.

"You go on home now, tis to cold for one such as you to be out and about."

The rabbit's head moved in what John could swear was a nod, then hopped away into the evening gloom. The figure chuckled, then sat down on the bench next to John.

"I apologize for startling you, Mr. Hurt." He said.

John shook his head. "Oh no, it's all right, I just didn't expect anybody else to be he… wait, you know me?"

The figure nodded. "Of course, I have been a fan of your work for a very long time."

For some reason, the words filled John with happiness.

"Thank you." He said. Just then, a lance of pain shot through his stomach. He winced.

"I'm sorry you have to go through all this." The figure said. John instantly forgot about the pain.

"How did you know?" He whispered.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" The figure asked softly

"Should I?"

In response, the figure reached back and threw back his hood.

"Hello, old friend."

The figure was a young man in his late twenties, with a strong, handsome face, a face John knew well. The man had not been so young then. Still, there was no mistaking it.

It was the face of Richard George Adams.

John was dumbstruck. His mouth fell open, but no words came out. Richard smiled.

"Well now, is that any way to greet a friend… Umph"!

John jumped forward and hugged his friend for all he was worth.

After what seemed like an eternity, John pulled back. "How are you here?" he gasped. "You're… you're… _dead_ "!

"Yes."

" _How!"_ John wheezed.

"Death is just a natural part of life, one we all must take."

"Did you seriously just throw a Lord Of The Rings quote at me?"

Richard laughed, then grew serious. "You will understand presently, but first, the reason I am here, you."

"Me?"

Richard nodded. He reached out and touched his friend's side. "This sickness has afflicted you for far to long. It is time to put it to an end."

"How?"

"By taking you beyond its reach."

During the last few years, John had often though about the reality of death, a natural reaction for anyone battling a dangerous illness. Sometimes, he found that he was more afraid of the anticipation of death than death itself. His one wish had been that when his time came, be it in one year, or ten, he would be able to face it without fear or regret. Now, as he sat facing his end, relief flooded through him to find that there was no fear or regret inside of him. All he felt was peace.

"Let us go," Richard said. "Everyone is eagerly awaiting your arrival, you wouldn't want to keep them waiting."

"Everyone?"

" _Everyone."_

John turned towards the town for one last look. The lights were still visible, gleaming through the ever falling snowflakes. Listening intently, he could just make out the sounds of Christmas carols being sung. He smiled, then turned to Richard.

"I hope… I hope that they don't forget us."

Richard laid a comforting hand is his friend's shoulder.

"Don't worry, you know as well as anyone, legends never die, they can only grow..."

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I wish you all a very Merry Christmas!


End file.
